Overshadowed
by Mutinous Phantom
Summary: Madame Giry is a mystery. She shows no emotion, and is untelling of her wisdom until her end. A three part piece detailing the later life of the forgotten character in the Phantom of the Opera. [Companion to In Shadows He Hides]. COMPLETE!
1. Sunset

Hey guys and girls this is going to be my last phic for a while, and this is only a one-shot (though it my become a short-ish story if people like it). It basically completes Madame Giry's role from my story In Shadows He Hides. I didn't want to include her in the epilogue of the story as she played such a minor role I didn't want her ending to deter from the others. It would help to read the Epilogue of my last story, but is not necessary.

So here it is, enjoy :) Also check out my other one-shot 'Fate' :) (Shameless self advertising there :P)

_Italics Thoughts if a small sentence, flashback if a paragraph._

**OVERSHADOWED**

Her pen was poised over the paper, prepared to write the next inspired sentence of the letter, that is if the writer was not distracted. Antoinette Giry gazed over at her daughter and her fiancé from over the room. Her blue eyes meticulously noticed the friendly body language and romantic gestures emanating from the two.

If there was any doubt in her mind concerning the compatibility of Raoul de Chagny and her own Meg it was blown away the instant the young man kissed her daughter sweetly, expressing his love in a way words could not.

She smiled wistfully at the scene, remembering her own first love. Jacques Giry had been a childhood crush, the two meeting when they worked at the opera house, herself as a member of the chorus and him a stage hand. At the tender age of twelve, it had been love at first sight for her, even though he was five years her senior. He barely noticed her shy attempts at talking to him, leaving her crushed on more than one occasion.

Things changed when she had attended his coming of age party at the age of sixteen. She had worn a shimmering white gown and allowed her long, dark hair to cascade down her back, highlighting her flawless pale skin. Many men had offered to test her dancing skills, but there was only one for her. After three hours sitting with the other chorus girls in the back of the room, sipping watered down wine, Jacques had finally approached her. His black hair was slicked back, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight, she remembered how she could scarcely breathe when he asked her to dance. Nervously she accepted and set in motion events that would change her life. They were married a year later and she gave birth to Meg at the age of eighteen.

She was the happiest she had ever been, laughing freely and showcasing her love to the world. Jacques had left his job as a stage hand and had acquired a position as an apprentice to a dear, elderly carpenter who needed someone to be his successor. For three blissful years they had shared a small house with their daughter, experiencing a happiness few could.

Unfortunately, things did not last forever, and one day she had caught her beloved husband in bed with another woman. She could still feel her heart shattering at the image, the unidentified woman looking exceedingly wanton with her husband on top of her. He had packed up his things and left with his lover twenty minutes later. He and the woman were killed en route to their new lives by a freak train crash.

With little other choice, she returned to the opera house and perfected her craft as a ballet dancer, channelling all her grief into her art, becoming the star dancer of the show for many years. She looked after Meg in her spare time, with the other ballet girls ensuring her daughter was safe when she was busy.

For the first few years she had cursed every man that dare enter her presence. Eventually, she found friendship and condolence in a little boy she had rescued many years earlier, on a trip to the circus with the ballet girls. Erik had teased the torment and anguish out of her with song, allowing her to give her love fully to her daughter and be the mother she always intended to be.

_Let us hope she had a better experience than me_, she thought with a sigh whilst looking at her young daughter.

At thirty-six, she knew she was not particularly old, and knew herself to be attractive enough to secure a new husband, but with being alone for so many years, she had grown accustomed to her independence, something she knew any man would not allow her to keep.

Sighing again, she dropped the pen that was still in her hand, and smoothed out the crinkles in her sheer skirt. Raoul had insisted on buying her a new wardrobe for the 'second most beautiful woman in the world'. She smiled at the thought of it, but had forbidden him from spending too much on her. However, he had managed to sneak her ten new dresses: five day gowns, three evening dresses and two practice skirts. She mainly kept to the practice skirts, finding comfort in the free movement they allowed, but since coming to Erik's house she had began to wear the other eight, and found herself borrowing from her daughter when she felt overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place.

She was wearing one of her daughter's pieces now, a deep green dress, with a tight bodice, with a swirling pattern sewn in with small pearls attached. The bodice then descended into a full skirt, with many layers of silks and laces, all in the same deep green, covering her feet. Her still dark hair was braided into a single plait that fell straight down her back. The sumptuousness of the clothes was still overwhelming to the modest woman, but she knew she would have to grow accustomed to them, considering the company she would be expected to keep after the wedding.

She had found a friend in Raoul's mother, Evangeline. The petite blonde woman was fascinated by dancing and had spent most of her youth aspiring to become one of the great ballet dancers at the Opera Populaire. She had recognised Antoinette as soon as she was introduced to her at a formal ball, and had accompanied her all evening. That had greatly helped her and Meg's introduction to the family, and she had grown to become acquaintances with most of them.

One man had particularly intrigued her, the man to whom she was writing to at the moment. Baron de Renoir was an extremely wealthy widower whose son was a close friend of Raoul's. His wife had died during childbirth, leaving the young Baron accountable for his son. This had resulted in a strong relationship between father and son, familiar to that of hers and Meg's.

He had striking looks, with platinum blonde hair falling curls to his shoulders, kissing the lapels of an expensively tailored outfit. The man was just shy of forty, similar to her. His startling grey eyes had sought her as soon as she entered the room, and she had pretended for the most of the evening not to notice.

_Antoinette sighed as she took another sip from her wine glass, watching her daughter and her future son-in-law dancing. They were the main attention of the event, with many intrigued as to why Raoul had chosen a girl so low down the class ladder. She had overheard many an insult concerning Meg, and had done everything within her power not to confront those who uttered them. _

"_Your daughter is very graceful, a talent one assumes stemmed from her mother." _

_She had turned immediately at hearing the low, silky voice, coming face to face with Baron de Renoir. She hastily gave him a curtsey in respect, to the laughter of the man. _

"_You need not concern yourself with formalities, my dear. I was simply complimenting, parent to a parent."_

_She smiled slightly at his charm, and they had spent the rest of the evening together, talking and dancing, much to the disapproval of the social elite present. _

He had kept a correspondence with ever since, insisting she address him as 'Philippe' in their letters. He had entertained her with his adventures and travels with the army, and in return she had told him all of her life at the Opera House. She was careful to label the exploits of the Opera Ghost as fictitious, but he had enjoyed them nonetheless.

In his last letter, he had insisted on meeting her again, saying how he had missed her smile and presence. She was extremely flattered by his attentions but after so many years was unsure how to react. Her heart was insisting on her replying in the affirmative, knowing happiness could be found again, but her brain was debating the sincerity of the man, even though she had heard nothing but good accounts of him.

She was brought back into the present with a jolt, watching as Erik stormed out of the room, a copy of Shakespeare's _Measure for Measure_ in hand.

Christine glanced over at her, smiling widely.

"Mama Giry, take your own advice and take the plunge, it will be worth it."

Shocked, Antoinette watched as Christine left the room. She had not been called 'Mama' in about ten years, and the term of endearment threw her. What surprised her the most was how easilyy Christine has interpreted her expressions and disposition.

With a smile, she shrugged away her concerns, and resolved all of her courage whilst picking up the pen. The Baron de Renoir would indeed get his visit; it was about time for her to be brave.

………………….

Aww, I love Madame Giry, she is so criminally under-used in the community. I'm thinking about turning this into a sort of story of short vignettes, all about Mme. Giry's past. What do you guys think? Yay or Nay?

Anyways, any comments/reviews/emails are always welcome :)

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Sorry if it got a bit melancholy, I had a case of the Valentine blues :P

M.P.


	2. Twilight

Okay, this is part 2 of 3. It gives in an insight into her childhood this time, enjoy!

**OVERSHADOWED**

_Six months later …_

The gardens were breathtaking. Each flower had been strategically placed so that their fragrances blended together to create an atmosphere that was undeniably beautiful. She was at complete peace with herself as she stood admiring the beautiful foliage that surrounded her.

A warm hand was placed on her shoulder, heightening to the sense of comfort she felt.

True to her word, Antoinette had visited Baron de Renoir after her letter. They had met again in a quaint restaurant in Paris where they discussed their interests over a delicious meal. His company had been agreeable as she remembered and they soon found themselves meeting quite regularly. This was the first time she had seen his home and recognised the step they had taken in their relationship, things were becoming deeper at a record pace. She had felt slightly out of her place in the majestic chateau at first, but Philippe had reassured of her grace and that to him she was of the highest class in existence.

The sun was setting, which was their main reason for venturing out of his chateau. It was beautiful, with the bright, golden light of day succumbing to the mysterious darkness of night. She stood close to the Baron, standing in front of him to allow him to view the scene over her shoulder. Their closeness denoted a intimacy she had not felt for many years.

She knew he was going to offer his hand in marriage to her. She was a shrewd woman and his mannerisms and increasingly nervous behaviour confirmed the idea to her. The brunette had felt uneasy at first, but this small feeling had grown into an inner turmoil she had not known since her husband had died.

She loved him, that was clear and in a fairytale land that was the only requirement for marriage. However, Madame Giry was firmly present in reality and knew there were various factors for her to consider.

The main issue for her was class. The Baron de Renoir was undeniably of high class and was one of the most eligible bachelors in the Parisian high society. He had been surrounded with finery and praise since the day he was born to his most noble parents. She, however, was born in a provincial town to a blacksmith and his wife. Her parents were deeply in love throughout their childhood and had leaped at the chance to get married as soon as they could. Her father, Jacques, had a secure profession and could offer his bride a relatively safe future, where food was always on the table and there was a roof over their heads. Marie Giry was a pleasant woman, whose beauty was known throughout the small town. Many felt she could marry above her class due to this, and were bitterly disappointed when she decided to marry the common blacksmith.

Together their love had created her, and when she was born they rejoiced. Her vaguest childhood memories were of her father presenting her with a train he had forged whilst working, that was still with her to this day. Early on they had noticed her passion for dancing and had secured her a place at the Opera Populaire as a chorus girl at the age of eleven. She never did find out how this occurred, but she suspected it was a result of one of her mother's past suitors who wished to gain her favour again. Though slightly older than the other girls, Antoinette soon become an integral part of the chorus until she was given her first dancing solo at the age of seventeen. Her parents died after living very fulfilled lives, about a year apart from each other, neither being able to live without the other. Meg was blessed enough to have memories of her grandparents, a luxury she did not share, as hers had died long before she was born.

However, the fact remained her family background was of low class, despite her daughter's marriage and her success on stage. She did not want to damage Philippe's reputation in any way.

The second, and slightly more personal issue was that of her late husband. She had been shown the unforgiving and cruel nature of men and she was not yet sure if the Baron would turn out to be the same sort of man after they were married. It involved a risk. A risk was almost a luxury to her, when Meg was growing up she could never take any, not wanting to endanger her daughter's life for her own gain.

Now however, Meg wrote her dozens of letters telling her to encourage the Baron's affections, knowing her mother was lonely and the match would be good for her.

She sighed slightly, looking up at the handsome man behind her, watching him smile. With a slight smile herself, she looked back at the dwindling sun, enjoying the warmth that Philippe radiated.

"Marry me?" A whisper next to her ear asked, as an arm encircled her, holding a simple diamond ring.

Antoinette looked at the simple engagement ring, at once knowing she would regret it if she declined. Many of the upper class gave their wives to be gaudy rings encrusted with jewels to show how much money they are willing to spend on them, because to them money equalled affection. Knowing that Philippe had bought a simple ring showed her he really knew her, that he had no desire to make her into an trophy wife who he would dress up in luxurious clothes.

She had been staying at the chateau for a week now, all in secret and wore nothing but her dancing skirts that Raoul had purchased for her. No comments were made on her choice of dress and the Baron had commented more than once that she looked beautiful.

Her fears had clouded her judgement. Philippe was a good man, and she would be honoured to be his wife, he showed he did not care for her background and she should have realised it a long time ago.

"I would be honoured to." She replied, allowing a real smile to enter her face, accepting the ring that she immediately placed on her long barren ring finger. She had stopped wearing her first engagement ring a long time ago and given it to Meg so she could have something to remind her of her father.

No more words were spoken as the last rays of the sun descended below the horizon, none were needed, as the strong hold she found herself in said more than anything else ever could.

……………………….

Aww, I am a bit of a sap sometimes.

I am not sure if I am 100 happy with this vignette but I like how it is quite simple.

The next and last instalment will be the wedding (obviously!).

Any comments/emails/pm's/reviews/ are all very welcome

Until next time,

M.P


	3. Night

Finally, the last part. Sorry about the wait, I have seriously been lazy (and busy in the author's defence) but it is here now!

**OVERSHADOWED**

_Twenty Years Later_

The warm summer air caressed the necks of the uncomfortable mourners. The heat was at an almost unbearable degree in the early morning, only emphasised by the vast amounts of black decorum forced them to wear.

In Meg's opinion the weather reflected nothing of the person they were bidding farewell to. Her mother had always been aloft, slightly cold but constant, like winter. An inevitable force to be reckoned with that could be fair to you one day, and the next be placing three feet of snow by your door and deadly black ice under your carriage wheel. Her mother would have been amused by the comparison, no doubt, for she had always enjoyed being feared.

For all of her life up until that point, her mother was a mystery, an unstoppable power figure who refused to back down even when the outlook was bleak at best. Now, watching the simple wooden coffin being descended into the ground, Meg realised she was only a woman, a manipulative one at that who used everything to her advantage, and those she cared for. She could not truly say if her mother was a good woman or not, as she had been almost holy in some of pursuits and yet decidedly devilish in others.

Just like everyone else she had her flaws, and just like everyone else she concealed them to the best of her ability.

She dropped a single rose on top of the casket as the bloodied soil was being replaced, almost drowning the very existence of her mother into its untimely reach, with only a single marker to remember her sixty years on this earth.

Her mother may be dead and forgotten, but Meg would never let what she lived and worked for go to waste.

Taking her daughter in one hand, and her husband in the other, she guided her small family to an awaiting carriage, to travel to a place where the fonder memories of her mother would be discussed over the fine food and drinks Raoul had provided. For he was the one who had arranged the funeral, believing that it would be in his deceased mother's wishes that Antionette be sent off in the style befitting an upper class woman.

As the jostling carriage moved off, the blonde woman looked back, seeing the fresh grave partnered against the slightly older, worn one. Together in death, laying next to each other as if in bed on a Sunday morning, waiting to arise and take a walk together along the river side.

Turning back to the grim face of her husband, Meg realised the one thing that her mother had left her. A warning. Not to waste the short time you have, with the ones that you love.

……………

Hmm. Well, this is slightly depressing if I do say so myself. I was going to do her wedding in this final chapter, but death seemed, well more final.

Comments/Reviews/Emails/Any other form of contact that the author cannot think of, are of course welcome, even if you want to bitch at me for being a tad too depressing when it is almost summer!

This may be my last venture into the POTO fan community for a while, if not ever, so in true Fall Out Boy style:

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

;-)

Mutinous


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